


Through Everything Together

by WhisperElmwood



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Aftermath of Torture, Allergies, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aviophobia, Beating, Broken Bones, Comfort, Depression, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insomnia, Kidnapped, Kidnapped by Aliens, M/M, PTSD, Rescue, Self-Sacrifice, Shuttle Accident, Stabbing, Starvation, Tarsus IV, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperElmwood/pseuds/WhisperElmwood
Summary: A 5 + 5 + 1 fic.Five times Jim was hurt and needing comfort, five times Len was hurt and needing comfort, and one time they were both hurt and Spock gives them comfort.





	1. Goddamn Flu: Part 01

** Goddamn Flu: Part 01 **

 

They’ve been at the Academy for barely two weeks when Jim catches the flu going round.

Leonard’s not terribly surprised; about the only thing student barracks are good for is incubating a dozen different strains of a virus from all over the globe into a single super-goddamn-virus. And while Leonard has been doing his damndest to avoid catching anything, especially considering he’s picking up shifts at the Academy Clinic, Jim’s been enjoying all the new beings he can interact with, making friends left right and center with that Iowa charm of his, without a thought to how all that extra contact means even more chance of catching something. 

He’s still not sure how Jim pulled it off, but they’re actually room-mates - Leonard had been just settling in, finding new homes for his scant possessions, when the door had whisked open and Jim had strolled in, duffel bag hooked over one shoulder and grin firmly in place; Leonard had simply rolled his eyes and that was that - so he discovers Jim’s caught the flu by walking into their darkened dorm-room and being assaulted by humid warmth. 

“The  _ fuck _ \- Jim?  _ Jim _ , you in here?” 

A grunt from the direction of Jim’s bed informs him that he is indeed in here. 

“ _ Lights _ , 50 percent.” The lights lift and the lump on Jim’s bed folds in on itself with another grunt. There’s a flood of tissues spilling off the bed, cascading across the floor in a sweeping mess that speaks of Jim having been here all day. Leonard’s been on shift at the clinic since some god-awful hour of the morning, so he hasn’t been around to see if Jim even tried to get up. 

Leonard sighs. 

“Goddamnit Jim, did you not get your damn shots?” Leonard drops his kit in its already habitual spot by the door and makes his way into the tiny apartment. He picks up the trash can as he passes it and starts gingerly dropping the scattered tissues in it as he moves closer to Jim’s bed, muttering about cleanliness and the spread of goddamn contagious crap in his own damn living space. 

A muffled, ineligible voice rises from the depths of the blankets and Leonard snorts, “Try that again without the blankets, kid.” He finishes collecting all the tissues and carefully perches on the edge of Jim’s mattress, placing the trash can by the nightstand. 

The lump squirms for a moment and then Jim rolls over, pulling the blankets away from his face. “‘M’allergic to ‘em,” he explains in a rasp, squinting up at Leonard through his bangs. 

Leonard quirks an eyebrow, “Just how much shit  _ are  _ you allergic to, kid?” 

Jim frowns, evidently actually trying to work that out, “...Everythin’?” 

Leonard snorts, “Alright, kid. Just - don’t move, I’ll be right back.” 

Jim maybe whines a little and Leonard gives in to the sudden urge to push the kid’s bangs out of his eyes as he makes to get to his feet. “Hush, Jim.” Jim turns into the touch, pressing his forehead into Leonard’s fingers as if seeking comfort. And that’s how he discovers that Jim doesn’t just have a cold, he’s also got a burning fever. 

“Jesus,” he gets up hastily, goes to grab his med kit and comes back all before Jim even registers he’s gone if the way he’s still trying to focus says anything. 

“Alright, Jim,” he says as he pulls out his kit’s tricorder and runs a scan, “You’ve got a 103 temperature, kid. You’re gonna need to get up so I can take you to the clinic-” 

“No. No clinic,” Jim’s eyes have widened and his frail voice is suddenly stronger, though still raspy. He coughs brokenly, curling up a little, “No, don’t wanna-” 

Leonard may have only known the kid for barely two weeks, but it’s been enough time to teach him that Jim has an independence streak a mile fucking wide at least. He’s also noticed Jim’s no fan of medics, which has made him wonder more than once what the hell he thinks he’s doing befriending Leonard in the first place. 

Leonard sighs again, tucking the tricorder back in the kit bag, rooting instead for a hypospray, “Alright, alright Jim. I’ll let you stay here for now, but if it gets worse, I will carry you there my own self - you got that?” 

Jim nods and smiles up at him, a little blearily, but still, “Thanks, Bones.”

“I’m gonna give you a little somethin’ to help bring that temperature down, ok? An’ hopefully y’aint allergic to it.” 

He selects the least allogeneic version he has, promising himself he’ll stock his kit with things Jim’s not allergic to at the soonest opportunity, and presses the hypospray to Jim’s neck. Jim grunts and squirms away as he doses him, curling into himself again.

“Sorry, kid. One more, ok? This one’ll make it easier to breathe.”

Jim yelps a little this time, and feeling inexplicably guilty - generally Leonard has a sharp word for any patient careless enough to end up under his care - Leonard gently rubs the abused spot of Jim’s neck with careful fingers. 

He prepares another dosage of both medications one handed, laying them out on Jim’s nightstand for when he’ll need them later and keeps gently rubbing Jim’s neck. The kid leans into it with a slight hum, “T’nks, Bones.” 

“Ain't no bother, kid, just… Let's get you in for your vaccinations once you're better.”

He makes to get up, to continue with his evening - he needs food and a shower at the very least - but Jim makes a noise of complaint and one long fingered hand reaches out from the blankets and weakly grasps his wrist.

“Stay..?” 

Good gods Jim’s puppy-dog eyes could be the death of anyone. 

Leonard shakes his head slightly. “You're a mess, kid, an’ I need t’eat.” 

Jim's grip tightens briefly and he curls a little closer, a slight whine rising from his throat, and then, inexplicably, he lets go with a sigh of his own and he scoots back and away. 

“Ok, Bones,” he says quietly, resignation clear in his tone.

Now doesn't that just sound like the kid’s used to not getting comforted. Leonard wars with himself as Jim pulls the blankets back up around himself and rolls over, coughing weakly. 

“Oh for-” Leonard runs a hand over his face, through his hair, and then he pokes Jim in the shoulder. “Up, c’mon Kid. You're as bad as-” 

He nearly says he's as bad as Joanna.  Stops himself just in time, nearly bites his tongue in the process. 

“Whut? Bones?” Jim looks over his shoulder, eyes bleary, expression entirely confused. 

Leonard clears his throat, “C’m’ere, kid, I can stick around a bit.” 

Jim's eyes actually brighten, something close to his charming grin plays at his chapped lips and he scoots eagerly, lets Leonard press himself against the wall with his legs stretched across the mattress.

Helping to prop Jim up a bit, he lets the kid squirm around until he's got his head in Leonard’s lap, where he settles down with a contented huff, one hand resting carefully on Leonard’s thigh, the other tucked under him, as if Jim's hugging him like an oversized teddy bear. 

After a moment's hesitation, Leonard carefully drops his fingers into Jim's hair, remembers how much that always soothed him as a kid, how it soothes Joanna. It's no different now; as he gently cards his fingers through Jim’s slightly sweat dampened hair, he can feel the kid relaxing, going lax against him. 

“Thank you, Bones,” Jim slurs just on the edge of sleep.

Leonards smiles down at him and just makes a mental note to properly check out Jim's medical history. 

If he falls asleep not long after Jim, one hand in the kid's hair, the other on his ribs to keep a feel for his breathing and heart rate? Well, no one's gonna know. 


	2. Goddamn Flu: Part 02

** Goddamn Flu: Part 02 **

 

Jim really only has hazy memories of his own bout of the flu going around - fingers in his hair, southern drawl murmuring nonsense down at him, a large hand rubbing his back as he coughs - but he’s definitely going to remember Bones’ bout of it nearly a week later. 

Mostly because it turns out Bones is one of those people who refuses to admit when he gets ill - completely exacerbated by the fact he’s actually a doctor himself. Once it’s all over, Jim laughs himself silly over it all. Well out of throwing range, of course, Bones doesn’t take kindly to the laughter at all.

It starts when he wakes up on a Tuesday morning. He’s got both their schedules memorised, so he knows on this particular Tuesday Bones should be up and about at least a half-hour before he is. However, Bones is still in bed, curled up tight in his nest of blankets - something about being from Georgia and the oncoming Autumn weather in San Francisco meaning he went out and purchased a  _ shit  _ ton of extra blankets within the first couple days at the Academy, and it looks like he’s got  _ every single one _ of them on his bed right now - rather than muttering to himself in the bathroom as he fixes his hair. 

Jim rolls and stretches and then pushes himself to his feet, flicking his own sheets messily across the mattress as he scritches languidly at his belly. “Hey, Bones? You alive under there?” 

“F’k off,” he hears, indistinctly, from the pile of blankets. 

Ok, so Bones isn’t exactly a morning person, but that’s just uncalled for. 

He prods at what he thinks is Bones’ shoulder with a wary finger, “Hey, Bones. I think you forgot to set your alarm?” 

That gets him a reaction. He jumps out of the way just in time as Bones shoots up, “What?” 

Bones is an absolute  _ mess _ ; his hair is flying in every direction, his eyes are red rimmed and his skin - usually a warm olive - is kinda verging on gray. 

Jim checks the chronometer, “Uh, it’s 0703 hours?” 

“ _ Shit _ . Fuck, god _ dammit _ , why didn’t-” Bones cuts off as he apparently miscalculates and tumbles out of bed into a heap on the floor. 

Jim can’t help it, he bursts out laughing. 

“Goddammit Jim! Help me up, I’m gonna be fuckin’ late!” 

Being the best roommate on the planet, Jim helps Bones get up and then even lets him use the bathroom first, while he makes both their beds and even puts Bones’ bag together for him. Twenty minutes later, Bones is still a little gray, but his hair’s tamed and he’s dressed and Jim watches him stumble out the door, a slight niggle of worry prickling at the back of his mind. 

\---

He next sees Bones in the mess. He’s slumped over his tray, picking at his food, looking like the entire weight of the world is resting squarely on his broad shoulders.

Bones jumps when Jim slides his tray next to his and drops into the seat next to him. “Hey Bones, you look like shit.” 

Bones gives him one of his  _ special  _ glares, one of the ones Jim has started calling his ‘go die in a fire’ glares, normally reserved for cadets who annoy him after a late shift at the clinic or the day after Jim’s dragged him out for drinks. He’s only known the guy three weeks, but he’s getting a handle on the way he expresses himself, the whole new language of glaring and grumbling and pissed-off body language that’s all a cover for what he is pretty sure is actually a really soft center. 

So he just smiles, well aware that whatever’s bringing that glare out isn’t actually his fault, “Seriously Bones, you ok? You’re looking a bit...“ He waves at Bones everything and shrugs, stuffs a forkful of pie in his mouth. 

Bones huffs a weary sounding sigh as he returns to picking at his food. “I’m  _ fine _ . Just had a long coupla’ days.” He finally actually puts some food in his mouth. 

Jim watches in concerned interest as Bones’ skin fades to a new level of gray almost immediately, “Shit, Bones-” 

Bones shoots to his feet, grabs his bag, “I’m - I - Later.” And with that he hastily leaves the mess hall, abandoning the tray and Jim without a backward glance. 

“The  _ hell _ , Bones.” 

\---

Jim resolves to pin Bones down and find out why he hasn’t taken himself to the clinic as soon as classes are over and he gets back to their room. Obviously the doctor is ill and obviously, he’s refusing to admit as much, even to himself. If it wasn’t so concerning, Jim’s pretty sure he’d find it adorable. 

It doesn’t quite work out that way. 

Having a hunch that Bones is actually too ill to properly take care of himself right now and knowing they don’t have any food in their dorm room, he stops at the mess directly after classes and grabs a couple portions of soup, a handful of fruit, and two large coffees. 

Besides, he has the sneaking suspicion that Bones is the kinda doctor that makes for a terrible patient; too good at what he does and caring more about other people’s health than his own to let anything knock him off his feet for long. He’s pretty sure the man’ll work himself into the ground before he admits there’s anything at all wrong with him.

When he steps into their dorm room, juggling the containers and cups so as not to spill anything, it’s like stepping a week back in time. The lights are off and there’s a mess of tissues scattered in a disintegrating orbit around the trashcan. The only difference is that Bones is sitting up in his bed, his collection of blankets wrapped around and over him as he works at something on a PADD precariously balanced in his lap. 

“Bones! I brought sustenance.” Jim sets everything carefully down on the tiny kitchenette table and then toes his boots off, kicking them into the nook by the door. 

Bones grunts, doesn’t move at all, save for his stylus on the PADD screen. 

“Stop shouting, kid,  _ Christ _ .” 

Jim scrunches his nose up; he hadn’t been any louder than he usually is. Which means Bones’ head is hurting. In conjunction with everything else, Jim reckons Bones has gone and caught what he had last week. Which also means Bones is probably feeling like warmed over shit right now, headache, stuffy sinuses, coughing and muscle aches all - as well as the nausea at lunch - so the fact that he’s  _ sitting up _ in bed and  _ still working _ , rather than curled up in a heap of blankets bemoaning his fate just confirms Jim’s theory. 

“‘Thanks Jimbo, yer the best damn roommate ah’ve evah had. Ah feel like crap right now, thank’s fer noticin’.’” Jim rumbles in a deliberately terrible imitation of Bones’ drawl as he carries their meals over to the beds. Bones looks up at him and  _ wow _ , that glare. It’s notched up a crap ton since the ‘go die in a fire’ at lunch. 

“I do  _ not  _ sound like that. And I am  _ fine _ .” The fact that he bursts into a weak coughing fit not a second later belies that statement and Jim just lifts his brows as he carefully lowers himself to a clear spot on Bones’ mattress. 

“Right. Well, I brought soup, ‘cause I remember what keeping solids down was like last week.” 

Bones glares at him again, “I’m  _ not  _ sick.” 

Jim snorts, “If you say so, Bones. Eat the soup though.” 

Jim indulges Bones in a staring contest for a few moments, and then Bones huffs and sighs and puts his PADD to one side as he takes the covered bowl and spoon Jim is holding out. 

“Fine,” he mutters, and after he’s swallowed a couple spoonfuls; “Thanks.” 

Jim relaxes a little and eats his own soup, not moving from the bed and keeping a careful eye on his roommate. He has a feeling Bones is going to crash soon, whatever the cantankerous man has to say on the matter. As he eats, he wonders if Bones has even given himself any meds, for the congestion, the muscle and headache - and then he wonders if he’s got that fever Jim knows he’d had last week, if he should call someone at the clinic to come over and check Bones out. 

Bones doesn’t manage to finish the soup and apparently this is the last straw. Bones pushes the bowl away, over the mattress in Jim’s direction and then says, weakly, “Alright, Kid. I give in. You win.” 

Jim, carefully stacking Bones’ bowl with his own, smiles, “Yeah? You admitting it?” 

Bones grumbles something incoherent under his breath and appears to slump dejectedly under all his blankets, “Yeah. Go get my damned medkit, would you?” 

Jim determinedly doesn’t whoop, but he does grin. 

Before long, Bones has given himself a couple shots and Jim tidies up around the dorm room as he settles himself into his bed, blankets still piled high over his feverish form, despite the way he’s sweating and cursing. He’s still got his PADD and stylus out, is apparently _still_ trying to work even through the haze of his fever and the meds to counteract it. Jim just hums to himself as he throws tissues into the trashcan and the bowls and cups into the recycler. When he turns back to the rest of the room, intent on a shower and then studying for the evening, he finds Bones has fallen fast asleep in a heap at the top of his bed. 

Jim pads quietly closer, a fond smile curling his lips. With a shake of his head, he reaches down, gently pries the PADD and styles from Bones’ lax fingers, puts them on the nightstand where he’ll find them in the morning. After a moment’s further contemplation, he gently brushes Bones bangs out of his eyes and then heads to the bathroom. 

He’ll send a message to the clinic and Bones’ lecturers when he’s done. 


	3. Allergies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Description of Jim suffering anaphylaxis shock and passing out, from his POV.

** Allergies **

 

They jump them when they get off the Academy transport at 0200 or so hours in the morning after an evening on the town. There’s been a few assholes after Jim his entire Academy career so far, jealousy over his academic prowess, his genius, perhaps even his name. Whatever it is, some of their fellow cadets have taken it into their heads to blame Jim for their own failings, and while he doesn’t always tell Bones when someone’s tried something, he’s pretty sure Bones is well aware of what’s been going on. This time, he ends up right in the middle of it with him.

Jim had actually managed to convince Bones to come celebrate his latest term paper success, so they’ve done the rounds of his favorite night haunts, drank a bit at all of them, Jim’s danced with many a being and Bones has charmingly rebuffed every flirtation thrown his way by every being that tried it. 

The lighting on the Academy grounds when they step off the shuttle is sparse and pale, just enough to see the footpaths by. Patches of weak white light snake around the campus in an orderly fashion, leaving everything not in range as looming, formless shapes in the foggy darkness. The whole place is deserted, almost eerie. Half the cadets have left for Thanksgiving week already and since neither Jim nor Bones had any desire to travel anywhere this year, especially considering Jocelyn has taken Joanna off-world for the next three weeks - not that Jim had had any desire their first year either, and spent a week alone while Bones was off in Georgia - they’re two of only a couple handfuls of cadets still on campus. 

Their stumbling footsteps echo hollowly around the academy grounds and Jim giggles as they bump into each other, rebound and stumble, catching each other’s arms to stay upright. They’re not really that drunk, just tipsy, but they’ve had a really great night, leaving them really kinda giddy.

“Shhh,  _ shhh  _ kid,” Bones stage whispers and then bursts into a giggle himself. 

“ _ Bones _ , Bones oh my god,  _ shhhhhh _ ,” Jim pats a hand over Bones’ face until he finds his mouth and pushes his palm over it in a futile attempt to stop him laughing. 

Bones licks him and he yelps, scrunches his nose up in feigned disgust. 

The night suddenly sparks into incandescent stars and his head throbs as he hits the grass with an oomf. As he hits ground he hears Bones grunt and  _ oh no _ ,  _ no one _ gets to hurt Bones,  _ not on his watch _ and he scrambles to his feet, only to have something itchy shoved over his head and pulled tight around his neck. 

Jim struggles. He can just make out shapes through the weave of whatever’s been pulled over his head and manages to grab one of the assailants; he hooks a foot around their ankle and drops them. He lashes out, kicks the downed assailant in the side of the head, stumbles as he glances his target and just manages to dodge the blow coming at him from the second assailant. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he grapples with the second guy, can hear grunts behind him that he hopes to hell is Bones actually remembering his hand to hand combat training and beating the crap out a third guy. 

He trades blows with the second guy, quick jabs with fists and elbows, precariously aimed because he can’t see right, forces him back and throws him away. He tries to pull the thing off his head, but it’s tied tight around his neck, the knot at the base of his skull and the first guy has scrambled to his feet already. The two assailants lunge for him as one.

“Jim!” Bones roars and only the second guy gets to Jim.  _ Thank you, Bones _ , he thinks as he manages to dodge a wild haymaker to his head, hits the guy in the solar plexus with all his strength. He grabs the guy’s head as he’s going down and brings it into sharp collision with his knee as he kicks up. The guy drops with a whimper and doesn’t move. 

Jim’s breathing harshly, blood soaring, and it takes a moment for him to realise his throat hurts. So do his lips, and his nose. His eyes are watering and itchy and oh  _ fuck _ , he’s fucking allergic to whatever they put over his head! 

He falls to his knees, scrabbling at the tie around his neck, fingers uncoordinated as he tries to calm his breathing, but he’s licked his lips without thinking and swears he’s  _ swallowed  _ some of whatever the fuck this is as well and he can already feel his throat closing and his stomach churning. 

“ _ Shit _ , shit shit shit,  _ fuck _ , Bones!”

Then Bones is there, his own far more nimble fingers finally getting the tie unraveled and they drag the thing off his head together, actually tearing it in their haste, fibers, and particles of fabric-dust spinning into the air. His eyes are swelling, he can feel it happening and his vision is getting blurry, but Bones looks fucking fantastic, his actual fucking savior with wide worried eyes and his own torn, scratchy hood hanging around his neck. Bones tears it off and throws it away.

“ _ Shit _ , Jim, is there anything you’re  _ not  _ fucking allergic to?” Bones voice is gruff, but even through his own panic, Jim can hear the undertone of worry in it. He maybe laughs a little, but it hurts and he can’t catch his breath anyway so he quickly stops. 

Bones manhandles him down to the ground, onto his back and he just goes with it, trusts him to know what he’s doing - and isn’t  _ that  _ a thing? He  _ trusts  _ someone, a  _ doctor  _ even - he wants to giggle again, but he can barely breathe and the world is warping weirdly around them, his gaze narrowing in on his friends face, his wide hazel eyes. Bones is lifting his feet up, propping them up on one of the guys that attacked them, and then he’s leaning over him and - 

“Ow!” A pinch at his neck - he think’s he knows what that was, but he can’t - he doesn’t - his brain isn’t really working. He can’t think. The world’s kinda tunneling, gone all fuzzy at the edges.

“C’mon darlin’, c’mon’ Jim,  _ Jim _ , oh god-”

\---

Everything fucking  _ hurts _ .  _ Jesus _ . 

His head is throbbing, his throat feels like it’s on fire, his ribs feel like a fucking Klingon has been jumping up and down on him. For some reason, his right knee feels sore and basically every muscle in his body feels like he went ten rounds in the boxing ring. He doesn’t want to move, but whatever he’s lying on is so damned uncomfortable that he tries anyway and then whimpers as all the various aches in his body combine in an attempt to put him out of his misery. 

“Hush kid, I got ya, you’re gonna be fine.” 

_ Bones _ . Jim forces his eyes open, squinting a little despite the room apparently only being partially lit. 

Memory filters back in as he focusses on his friend and things begin to make more sense. Except for the ache in his ribs and chest. 

“B’nes,” he rasps, “W’t ‘ap’nd?” 

Bones sighs and pulls the visitor’s chair closer, drops into it. He’s got a PADD in his hand, stylus tucked behind his ear and he’s wearing his clinic scrubs. He also looks really tired, like,  _ really fucking tired _ . Jim wants to reach out and rub away the dark circles under his eyes, smooth away the wrinkle between his brows. 

“Well.  _ First _ , it turns out you’re allergic to hemp. Those goddamn idiots pulled a hemp sack over your head and you just,  _ breathed it in _ .” Bones rubs at his eyes for a moment, then looks back at him again. “The fact that they were tryin’ta kick our asses at the time, so your heart rate was up and you were breathin’ deeper didn’t help none. That just made sure more of it got into your system and faster.” 

Jim frowns, “Wh’re?”

“They’re in the brig,” Bones suddenly sounds really pissed, “Which is  _ right  _ where they  _ deserve  _ t’be.” 

Jim takes a moment to let all that sink in - he’ll have to ask about the brig thing later, when he can actually speak and isn’t aching so much - then he flutters a hand at his own chest, frowns again, “Hurts.”

Bones stands up and fusses with something on the biobed scanners, then catches Jim’s flailing hand in his own, “Yeah, sorry kid. You actually - well, I had to give CPR for a while there, Jim. An’ let me tell you, if you make me do that again I am callin’  _ quits  _ on this friendship.”

Jim breaks into a smile, completely sure of the opposite. “No y’won’t.” 

Bones only rolls his eyes at him, but he doesn’t let go of his hand either and Jim falls asleep still gripping Bones tightly.

\---

Jim spends the next 48 hours in the clinic and Bones doesn’t leave for longer than it takes to grab a shower and something to eat, hair wild and the bags under his eyes, the wrinkle between his brows never leaving.

When he woke up again and remembered Bones telling him he’d had to perform CPR it really hit home  _ exactly  _ how bad the anaphylaxis had been.  _ He’d stopped breathing _ . Bones had been forced to perform an invasive emergency medical procedure on him to keep him alive as he waited for the emergency medical unit to arrive. 

Jim’s not sure how to apologise for doing that to him, or how to thank him. He’s not sure there’s any way he can adequately convey how he feels after everything. Bones saved his life for god's sake, how does he  _ respond  _ to that?

So he lets Bones fuss over him. He leans on him for support on the walk back to their dorm room - let’s be honest, he really is still feeling quite weak, so it’s no hardship to lean into Bone’s strong, steady form as they walk - goes straight to bed after a quick shower as instructed, lets Bones straighten the room around him, and doesn’t complain when Bones makes dinner and it turns out to be mostly vegetables and a little lean protein. He doesn’t even put up a fuss when Bones gives him his shots. 

Then he just lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, chasing a billion thoughts around in his head, unsure how or where to start.

“You’re bein’ uncharacteristically quiet, Jim.” 

He doesn’t even make it a question, just a statement. 

Jim snorts lightly and rolls from his back onto his side so he can see Bones more clearly; He’s sitting on his own bed, surrounded by textbooks, PADDs and study holos, a glass of bourbon balancing precariously on his left knee. 

Jim tucks his right arm under his pillow, tucks his left hand under his cheek and watches Bones for a moment. 

“I guess I’ve been thinking,” he starts and watches as Bones tucks his stylus behind his ear and puts his PADD aside. 

“About?” 

“Did you… Were you carrying that epinephrine hypo all night?” 

Bones quirks an eyebrow at him and he takes a sip of his bourbon. “Jim, I have epinephrine with me  _ all the time _ . I double check it every time you drag me out, make sure I’ve got it safe - but I’ve  _ always  _ got it on me.” 

Jim’s thoughts scatter in shock. It must show on his face because Bones rolls his eyes and then rolls to his feet, pads across the space between their beds and drops carefully onto Jim’s mattress. Jim blinks up at him as Bones cards gentle fingers through his hair. 

“Kid, you musta known when you made me your personal physician that meant I’d have access to your records? I won’t pretend to know what that… what that two year gap in’em is about, but the fact that whatever it was left you immunocompromised? I know what that can do to a being.” He pauses and Jim turns his head into the fingers working through his hair, “An’ Jim, I ain’t lettin’ you die on my goddamn watch if I can help it, y’hear?”  

Jim had known that when he did it three weeks into their acquaintance, he just hadn’t thought Bones would  _ do  _ anything with the knowledge it gave him. No one else ever has. Ever. To be perfectly honest, it’s a little overwhelming. And  _ that  _ must show on his face as well because Bones grunts and pulls Jim up and into a fierce hug. 

He settles his arms around Bones’ waist and just… sinks into the embrace, buries his face in Bones' shoulder, refuses to acknowledge the slight hitch in his breath as he does it. A strong hand settles against the nape of his neck but Bones doesn’t say anything and they just sit that way until Jim finally gets his breathing back under control.

When he pulls back, he only goes far enough to be able to see Bones’ eyes, “Thank you. I just - Bones, I wish there was some better way I could say it… Just…  _ Thank you _ .” 

Bones snorts and ruffles Jim’s hair, “You remember this when I’m your CMO and tellin’ you ‘I told you so’ after you touch some alien plant life I told you not to touch, an’ we’ll be good.” 

Jim grins and hugs him again with a laugh, “Deal.”


End file.
